Three Demigods Who Never Had A Home
by bluepianos
Summary: The stories of three demigods who all had broken homes, and the one who was able to find the perfect home. Thalia, Luke, and Annabeth.  PULL Submission


**Title**: Three Demigods Who Never Had A Home (And The One Who—Later—Did)  
**Category**: Percy Jackson & The Olympians  
**Rating**: K+  
**Summary**: The stories of three demigods who all had broken homes, and the one who was able to find the perfect home. Thalia, Luke, and Annabeth. (PULL Submission)

**Three Demigods Who Never Had A Home (And The One Who—Later—Did)**

_Thalia_

Whenever Thalia felt down or alone or just plain angry, she'd go to Jason. And Thalia didn't know how her wonderful brother did it, but somehow, he helped her cheer up, calm down, and just _relax_.

He was a rather small child but that was better for the family. Especially for Thalia. Whenever she looked at him and considered his size, it was easy for her to know that she was responsible for him. She had to take care of him. And that was alright with her.

Oh, how she loved him. She loved the way he looked up at her expectantly whenever they stood in front of the candy store. She loved the way he'd reach up so she could carry him or give him a piggyback ride and make an endearing whine or whimper that always, always sounded like a kitten's meow. She loved especially how he could make his mother do anything he wanted. In her situation, it was difficult to get her to focus on something and carry out a task for them. Sure, Mother-dearest could do simple things like take showers, eat her food, brush her teeth; all the things she needed to do to survive. But other than that, she wasn't a mother. She was just another person living in Thalia's broken home.

And then she got rid of Jason.

Thalia hated her. Hated her so much it was almost absurd, almost crazy how much a daughter could hate a mother. They looked and acted everything alike; beautiful, strong, stubborn, and maybe once, her mother was also as smart as she, but where a mother could have loved a daughter and where a daughter could have trusted her mother, there was nothing. Why would there something be when all the woman ever did was consume the food Thalia cooked? Take up another room in the small house Thalia tried to keep clean? At times even _hit_ her when they fought? Why _would_ there be anything when that woman took Jason away from her?

She was no mother.

So Thalia ran. Maybe it was the cowardly thing to do, run away. Maybe she did it because she was suffocating, she was being stretched by all her corners. Maybe she did it because she just couldn't handle her own mother, her blood and flesh, anymore, but she definitely did it for herself.

Not for her father, damn him. Never for her mother. Not even for Jason. For her.

Because Thalia had nothing. Only a broken home. And running away only left that broken home behind in the past.

She only hoped her next home, wherever it may be, whoever she may share it with, wasn't as much of a hellhole as her first.

**Luke**

Was this what other little kids did when they were at home? Hide from their parents? In dark and cramped cupboards?

Well, in Luke's case, it was only one parent 'cause he didn't know where his dad was. And that was weird in his childish opinion because: what else did dads do besides looking after their kids? Especially their sons?

In Luke's mind, a father was supposed to take care of his son. (And in reality, that's true). But who was he to judge his father? (Particularly _his_ father. )

Wait, no. There shouldn't even be an argument for that answer. He had every damn right to judge his father. He was the son! Why wasn't Luke's father there for him like every other kid's fathers were there for them?

None of it made sense anymore.

Luke remembered a time when his mom used to take him to this ice-cream stand in the park. He had the tendency of choosing the same exact flavor—cookie-dough—every time they went to that park. Mom never minded, though, because she always chose the same flavor, too: strawberry.

The weird thing was that she'd always buy an extra ice-cream. Chocolate. And she'd never eat it. She'd never let Luke eat it. She'd just put in beside her or sometimes in between the two of them when they ate their ice-cream on a bench. Only when Luke entered camp and started training did he ever figure out what that one cup of melting ice-cream represented and for whom it was meant for.

Dad. He never had a dad. But whoever _his_ dad was, he must have been a pretty horrible person to do this to his mom.

In present time, Luke heard the crash of yet another dish on the stained floor and an ear-piercing shriek as his mother tried to fight something inside her. Something.

Something. Whatever it was, Luke didn't want to know but he wished that he could stop it so that his mother would be okay. So that he'd be okay. So they'd be okay. But at the same time, disgustingly, sickeningly, he wished that this something would just finish her off so that they'd both stop suffering.

Now, what kind of son would wish that their mother would _just die now_ so that they'd both get it over with?

By now, Luke had hatched a plan. And it probably wasn't the smartest plan, but it was all he had. If it succeeded and she didn't find him, then there would be no more accidental dishes to the face, accidental cuts, accidental injuries—no, no more of that. If he ran away fast enough, to a place safe enough for at least a day or two, then he'd be done with this. Done with her.

...And at the same time, he didn't want to leave her. Sometimes he thought of those days at the ice-cream stand. Sure, that was when she started going crazy but back then he had thought all mothers liked to dance on the bench and around the bench chanting nonsensical rubbish. (Plus, he danced with her.)

But then there were those times when he thought back to the days when his mom was actually a mom. Like when she'd sit with him at his bed and read him stories. Or when she'd drop him off at school and look all teary-eyed and completely embarrass him in front of his friends. Or when they ate her special lasagna in front of TV watching the latest episode of Friends.

Whenever Luke would remember those days, Luke would feel the tiniest spark that made him feel like he once had a home.

But that was no home.

After his mother went insane, it was like his childhood was shoved into his face in a garbage bag and someone had told him to throw it away. And he did.

Because after the prophecies (he later found out that the nonsensical rubbish was actually the start of prophecies) started coming, he realized he needed to start leaving.

So he did. And leaving his broken home was at the same time the smartest, hardest, yet stupidest thing he'd ever done.

**_Annabeth_**

Before she met Percy, her life was split into two periods. Or eras. Whichever one. They were "Before Luke and Thalia" and "After Luke and Thalia". Only after meeting Percy did she realize how stupid her categorization was.

"After Luke and Thalia" was probably the better time. At least it felt like she was being looked after by a make-shift mom and dad. Or... big brother and really-really-really-really-tough big sister. At least, that was what it felt like.

And even though it might have been an illusion and even though they were all just trying to survive (what with all the monster appearances), it was better than "Before Luke and Thalia".

Because before she had Luke and Thalia, she had nothing.

Her stepbrothers were an utter menace whenever she stepped into the bright house in San Francisco. They pretended she was like a disease back then and even as little babies, they cried whenever she was around, it was... unbearable, to say the least. And because they cried all the time, her stepmother always wanted her out. Out of the house, away from the house, far, far away. Far enough so that they wouldn't have to deal with her for a day or two.

They made her feel like a waste of mind and body. A waste of flesh. They made her feel like there was nothing that existed beyond the neighborhood and the school that she was allowed to go to. She felt like a shadow lingering by and bothering people.

And her father, oh, her father.

It was like he didn't even want to _consider_ that she existed. Like she was more of a nuisance or an annoyance, a little, little irritation that he tried to ignore, as if it would just go away if he didn't pay attention to it. As if she would just go away if he didn't pay attention to her and pretended she didn't matter. (But really, she did matter to him.)

She believed what her 'family' was trying to tell her. Annabeth believed so hard that she didn't matter and that she would never have what the other girls at school had. A little brother she could piggy-back ride, a mother who would take her shopping just to spend time with her, a father who would make his way straight for her and pick her up in a bear hug as soon as he got home—

But sometimes it felt like they would almost accept her. Her father would give her a sentence or two (if she were lucky) and her stepmother would actually offer a smile, however tight it would be, instead of a sneer or a grimace. That was always better. Her little brothers didn't cry. (Annabeth wondered, and still wonders to this day, if they didn't cry only because they were sleeping and didn't notice her but Annabeth didn't want to linger on that thought.)

She realized that if she just did everything they told her to, did everything her stepmother told her to do (sometimes, she honestly felt like a pathetic Cinderella, a damsel in distress, and it disgusted her), the family would accept her as part of the home. They'd let her laugh with them... sometimes. They'd let _her_ tell the jokes... sometimes. And life was bearable for Annabeth... sometimes.

But sometimes wasn't enough.

And when the monsters started appearing more and more often, those 'sometimes' turned into 'never'. By then, Annabeth had stopped spending time at home and spent the majority of her days outside, exploring what San Francisco could possibly offer her, only returning to the house when she needed to eat or sleep.

And soon, Annabeth had to explore more. There was more for her out there, beyond San Francisco, and beyond California. Beyond the crooked and twisted house that she lived in.

And she left. And she found Thalia. And she found Luke. Or it was the other way around and they found her. But they found each other and there she had it. A new family. A new home.

Now if only all of that could have last longer than those short years. And if only they'd kept Thalia safer. (If only she didn't get herself turned into a _tree_ for those couple of years).

And if only Luke had chosen the right side.

Maybe then things would have turned out differently. She'd see Luke and Thalia together again, walking side by side with her arms brushing one another but their hands never really finding each other. She noticed that that was what they preferred. No strings attached. _I like you, you like me._ The end. There would be no love involved.

But even Annabeth, as a small and fragile seven-year-old, saw that there was something behind the look in Luke's face whenever he'd glance at her. There was definitely something behind Thalia smirk towards him every now and then. Annabeth may have been young, but she wasn't stupid. Luke and Thalia may have thought that she didn't notice them stealing looks at each other, but she saw them.

It was kind of obvious, in her opinion.

That soft look that stole Thalia's hardened face every now and then? Yeah, that was definitely obvious, even for a child like Annabeth then.

But only when Annabeth was fourteen and holding up the sky did she even realize what that look _really_ meant. She uses it now, for Percy.

The thing is: Before Luke and Thalia, Annabeth had nothing. That house in San Francisco was only a house and would always be _just_ a house to her.

With Luke and Thalia, Annabeth experienced the slightest bit of home. Whether the three were under a bridge, next to a fire, in a garage, in the back of a train or in the middle of a forest didn't matter. As long as they were together. And that was home enough for her.

After Luke and Thalia, Annabeth was thrown into a lot of nothing again. Kronos took Luke from her. Thalia was off being a tree—then eventually she became a huntress.

And _home_ fell apart.

But after Percy, _home_ rebuilt itself and put itself together again and she could laugh inwardly at his lame jokes, she could marvel at his loyalty and honesty to himself and to his friends, she could look up to the hero inside him. She could be his friend.

And now she could be his lover and he would be her home. And this time, _home_ would have a stronger foundation, be built with stronger walls, larger windows. It would be beautiful.

And finally, Annabeth can settle and stay. Stay at home, with Percy.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ Hey, everyone. So we can agree that Annabeth was the one demigod who _did_ find a home later. In Percy. Oh, how soddingly romantic. /rolls eyes  
Sorry, folks, I've been in a rough mood for the past week, what with Christmas Break ending and the biology extra-credit book _not_ ending. (_Why_ is chapter five _so_ long?)  
I can't say I'm exactly proud of this one and I promise, guys, that I'll start doing _real stories_ where there's plot and something actually happening between the characters. Real stories and not this analytical rubbish.  
This _is_ a PULL submission, though. I think it's my third, hurr-hurr. I'm so behind. The PULL-Project is, as many know, something Bookaholic711 started for the benefit of all authors and it works well. Just… _some_ people can't keep up with the deadlines every two weeks, a la _bluepianos_, me. :) So I'm going to go see if I can finish those other _three_ late posts that I'm missing.

Heh. Again: reviews (whether they're flames, c.c.'s or just useless) will be _smothered_!


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